Starkid: AVPM - It's Getting Better
by Michelle-And-The-Beatle
Summary: After a pretty bad walk through the grounds of Hogwarts, Quirrell feels his most vulnerable, and doesn't keep his composure well while dealing with this problem. Voldemort sympathizes with him, only because they share a body... and if Quirrell was unhappy, that made him unhappy, too. Please Enjoy!


It was a cold winter day on the grounds at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snow had fallen the night before and many students were out and about, playing in the snow.

Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was walking through the grounds holding a stack of papers from his first years. His turban was as purple as ever and his steps were quick and nervous.

Now, the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had always been known for their pranks and jokes, whether on students or teachers. And this day, Professor Quirrell would be their victim. Ever since he was appointed as a Professor at Hogwarts, the twins had thought it very easy to play pranks on him. Today was no exception. Rather, it was the _perfect_ day, with the snow and all.

Fred and George had made about a dozen snowballs, which they were supposed to use to hit random first years with. But then George caught sight of Professor Quirrell walking under the shelter of the stone roof and pillars close to the castle. He concocted up a plan with his brother an they set off to do it.

With their combined minds, Fred and George were able to bewitch the snowballs they made so that they followed whoever they chose around. Quirrell was the chosen one today. So, the twins got close enough to Professor Quirrell so that they were able to mutter spells under their breath. It was a success, as they saw several of their snowballs float off the ground and zoom towards Quirrell.

Fred and George hid behind a stone pillar to watch what they had done, trying to hide their gleeful chuckles.

Now, there was a reason why Quirrell had a turban wrapped around his head every day, and it wasn't a gift, like he'd told anyone who asked. It was there to conceal the greatest Dark Wizard in history: Lord Voldemort. After he fell from power, he latched what was left of his soul onto Quirrell's. And, in turn, was able to feed off the Professor's soul and live on the back of his head.

So, Voldemort was not very alert, seeing only the purple fabric of Quirrell's turban. Voldemort found it hard work living on the back of someone's head secretly. In order not to be caught, he had to remain silent for most of the day, especially when Quirrell was teaching one of his incredibly boring lessons.

At the moment, the Dark Lord was feeling lazy and drowsy. He closed his eyes and relaxed while Quirrell wasn't really doing anything that disturbed him.

Quirrell continued walking, not noticing the snowballs (a fair distance off the ground) following him. That is, until one of them hit the back of his turban. The Professor flinched his head and cringed when he heard his master utter an audible, strangled yelp.

Quirrell turned around to see who had done that. The snowballs followed him and stayed hidden behind his back, so the Professor didn't see anything. He squinted his eyes in mild anger, then they widened again in fear when he thought of the reprimanding he was later going to receive from Voldemort.

With one last scope around him, Quirrell continued his walk, now moving at a quicker pace.

Voldemort was now wide awake, ready to tell Quirrell to kill whoever did that. His eyes narrowed as they darted around the inside of the turban, trying to see through the fabric in vain.

Almost instantly another ice ball hit Voldemort in the face. The turban provided no protection, like he had hoped. He wanted to scream a curse and murder the culprit.

Quirrell was becoming annoyed. He was almost jogging by the time he reached the safe confines of within the castle. This was when he slowed his pace down. The Professor still had no idea that the snowballs were not melting and still following him.

Two more shot themselves at Quirrell's turban. And Voldemort let out a shriek that made Quirrell drop his papers. He scrambled to pick them up, while students were giggling and pointing at him as they passed.

The Weasley twins were standing a good distance from Professor Quirrell and were laughing and high-fiving each other for their success. Then they walked away, not bothering to help him.

The last few remaining snowballs landed on Quirrell's face and the top of his turban this time.

Quirrell rushed to pick up the remaining papers littering the floor of Hogwarts. The Professor straightened himself out and practically ran up the many staircases to get to his room. This journey took longer because the staircase leading to his room changed its course and put him on the completely opposite wing of the castle. When Quirrell finally reached his room, he placed the messy stack of papers on his desk and removed his damp turban. And almost immediately...

"QUIRRELL!"

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher flinched.

"What in the name of Wizard God was that?!"

"I-I-It was s-snowballs, m-my lord," Quirrell shook violently.

"Snowballs? Well, why didn't you _stop _them, Quirrell?" Voldemort was furious. Quirrell flinched with every word his master spat.

"I-I didn't know who t-threw them..."

"I want you to find out and torture them for what they have done to me!"

"B-But, my lord-!"

"No buts, Quirrell. I can narrow down your search if you want. I am sure that it was two people at work. Those Weasley boys!" Voldemort yelled triumphantly. Then he mumbled, "If not them then... it was Harry Potter."

"M-My lord! I-I c-can't!" Quirrell felt his eyes burn and he shut them, lips quivering.

"Speak normally for once, slave! Geez..." Voldemort had always hated the way Quirrell constantly stuttered his speech. He suspected that it was from past experiences and just left it at that.

"Just find the twins and kill them. Can't be simpler than that, Quirrell..." Voldemort was still angry, but the thought of ridding himself of Fred and George made him happier. While he was thinking of ways to punish the boys, he almost missed the soft sniffle come from his body-sharer.

"Well... what do you think?"

"I-I-I can't..." Quirrell said, losing his composure. Voldemort listened to the sound of Quirrell's voice.

"Can't what?"

"I c-can't k-k-kill the st-students..." Quirrell sobbed. This stutter was much different from the one Voldemort had grown accustomed to. He swallowed, trying to think of what to say.

"W-Well... All you have to do is hold the wand. I'll say the spell."

Quirrell wiped his nose as more tears leaked from his eyes. Voldemort felt Quirrell shake his head, then plummet downwards. The Dark Lord was staring at the ceiling because Quirrell had sat on his bed and buried his face in his hands.

"Quirrell... I don't approve of this position. It's uncomfortable."

"F-Forgive m-m-me, my lord."

Quirrell began wiping at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Voldemort turned himself so he saw the mirror in Quirrell's room. He realized now that Quirrell was crying. He wondered what about.

"Quirrell?" Voldemort tried to say in a caring tone, but didn't quite make it.

"Y-Yes?" Quirrell stared at the covers on his bed, sniffling still.

"What are those noises you're making?"

"N-Nothing. J-Just allergies," Quirrell lied. Voldemort didn't approve of this, still being _nice_ toward someone made him pretty uncomfortable.

"Um... okay."

Voldemort looked out the window and saw that it was dark. He guessed that Quirrell was walking outside in the evening, and only came back to his room after dark.

"W-We should go to the Great Hall... f-for dinner, you know," Voldemort couldn't believe that he was stuttering.

"I-I'm not hungry."

Voldemort felt Quirrell stand up and walk across the room.

"Alright, then. Umm... get us ready for bed, Quirrell."

Quirrell soundlessly slipped off the robe he had on and his tie and dress shirt he wore under it.

Voldemort was at an angle that he was capable of seeing the same mirror. He was looking at a shirtless Quirrell, which wasn't a bad thing. The man wasn't muscley like Voldemort once was, but was slim. There were, however, muscles visible on the taught areas on his stomach and ribs. Voldemort was blinded temporarily when Quirrell put on his night garment.

Quirrell wiped his eyes to finally rid them of any signs of their previous sadness. Then he lay down in his bed and turned off the light in his room.

"Goodnight, Quirrell."

There was no response. Voldemort honestly wasn't tired, so he kept his eyes open. As the minutes went by, the silence kept on. But Voldemort knew that Quirrell wasn't sleeping. He could feel the difference, and he wanted to talk.

"Quirrell?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why were you crying?" Voldemort asked bravely. Quirrell shifted.

"W-What are you t-talking about?"

"You seemed upset before. And I want you to know... that you can tell me anything, Quirrell."

Quirrell had to repeat what Voldemort just said to him in his head.

"Master?"

"Yeah?"

"I-I didn't want you t-to think I w-wasn't a worthy s-servant if I s-said that I-I was crying."

"Well, I admit that it displeased me... but, then I think of when I did the same thing," Voldemort felt a lump in his throat. It was a long time since he felt it, but it felt so familiar.

Quirrell turned back on the light, but remained lying down on his side.

"W-What do you mean, my lord?"

"Nothing."

"You can tell me anything, too, you know."

Voldemort took a deep breath.

"I was an orphan when I was a child, Quirrell. And every night I would cry myself to sleep until... until I learned that I had nothing to cry about. It was just a stupid thing I did, and I began my evil ways at a young age. I guess I kind of hid my sadness under a mask of hatred and fear."

"M-My lord..."

Voldemort swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump.

"So... what's your problem, Quirrell?"

"Well... I cried because... b-because you yelled at me," Quirrell whispered. Voldemort snorted and tried not to laugh further.

"It's not funny..." Quirrell complained, even though he couldn't refrain from smiling.

"I-It is. You know what I'm gonna do already, Quirrell. So, why did that upset you?"

"I-I mean, I was prepared to be yelled at. B-But it was much worse."

"Oh..." Voldemort was actually proud of his work, but he knew he should feel bad for what he did to the Professor.

"I'm just... soft..." Quirrell continued.

"Why do you say that?"

"You should know! I'm a grown man and I cried b-because you yelled at me. That's j-just... sad."

Voldemort couldn't help but smile.

"You're not sad, Quirrell. I guess... you just have a big heart, and maybe you're a bit... sensitive," Voldemort whispered the last word, hoping he didn't anger Quirrell. To his great surprise, he heard Quirrell snort and felt his body shake slightly with laughter.

"I-I am pretty sensitive."

They were quiet again, both feeling better. Then, Voldemort narrowed his eyes at a sight that caught his attention.

"Quirrell..."

"Yeah?"

"You better have a nicer place to put that turban than on the table... _where you eat_."

Quirrell sat up again, bringing Voldemort with him, and he was smiling. He walked over to the table he absentmindedly put his turban on and put it in its case where it belonged.

"Better?"

"Much. Thank you, Quirrell."

"Of course, my lord."

"Let's go to bed."

"O-Okay."

Quirrell carefully climbed back into bed and turned off the light again. And this time, Voldemort planned on going to sleep, but he wnated to say something before he did.

"Quirrell..."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I just wanted you to know... that, even though I might yell at you... you shouldn't cry. Just get used to it and I promise it'll get better. Okay?"

"Y-Yeah. Okay."

"Good."

More silence followed.

"My lord?"

"Yes, Quirrell?"

"It's already getting better."

~The End~


End file.
